In The Days of Auld Lang Syne: Counterpoint
by PortiaKhalo
Summary: It all starts at the infamous Unicorn Pub New Year's Eve Party, and this is Bella side of the tale.


A/N: I forgot this the first time! As you can probably tell, this is my first fanfic... The Saturday Night Chat Ladies are the most hilarious and muse-worthy group I've ever known, and the UU girlies are just the best knitty-fanifcers in the world. Thank you guys...and please enjoy The Bella.

Chapter 1: Best the Beast

_"Born like sisters to this world _

_in a town where blood ties are only blood. _

_If you never say your name out loud to anyone _

_they can never, ever call you by it. _

"_Better", Regina Spektor _

I've narrowed it down to two options.

I still can't believe I'm dragging my scrawny behind to this New Year's Eve party anyway, but at least my costume choices were easy. That's right, I said a costume party. Rose's bar, The Unicorn Pub, is ringing in the New Year with a fairy-tale feast of fabulousness. In a drunken stupor on the night Rose conceived this infantile party idea, we all stupidly agreed we'd wear costumes that corresponded to our names: Alice would be Alice in Wonderland, Rose would be Briar-Rose, and I was to be Belle a la Disney's version of "Beauty and the Beast". Eventually, Rose and I backed out. Rose, because she'd found a killer-sexy Little Bo Peep costume, and me because I realized I didn't want to destroy myself tripping over a gargantuan yellow dress. Alice has kept her version of "Alice" as an option, and will be a wonderland unto herself on New Year's Eve.

My love of Cary Elwes movies had me instantly leaning toward a Princess Bride-esque costume, but I've developed a severe princess aversion over the years, so Maid Marian was the stronger choice. It's my tradition, after all, to choose the anti-Princess. I'd spent my entire childhood trying to prove to my mother through my role-playing and Halloween attire that her white horse would never come if she kept playing the damsel in distress. Saving her consumed so much of my life, but neither Joan of Arc nor Wonder Woman contained inside my small body could ever convince her.

Researching Marian for authenticity was very interesting, as you can see. Maid Marian was a huntress and a shepherdess, depending on what stories you read. She was considered one of Robinhood's Merrie Men, and if anything, played a large role in saving his ass on more than one occasion. Also, to me, the thought of a chastity belt is really, really hot. The only thing I can say for myself is that I spend my spare moments writing, and I'm a masochist for research. The rest of my days are filled with playing the Maid Marian shepherdess to my flock of sometimes-sheepish employees at the bakery I own. It took me two weeks of non-stop designing and baking with my whole team for the party's cake to meet Rosalie's standards. The cake she chose is astoundinging in it's cheesiness. She really does intend for her guests to bite into a "succulent lemon flavored unicorn with accompanying fireworks." It helps, in insane times like these imposed by my dearest Rose, to work with my friends. Angela Weber is my lead assistant of everything. We've been friends since high school, and besides Alice, she is the most intelligent and creative person I know. Embry, Quil, and Emily are all friends that grew up on the reservation close to my hometown and we all ended up here in Seattle at some point. Emily answers the phone and handles the accounting for us, and Embry and Quil follow us like puppies, fullfilling everything else that needs to be done. Sometimes I swear working with Quil and Embry is like directing a Cheech and Chong movie, but someone has to do the heavy lifting.

I'm already 45 minutes behind schedule when Rose attempts to corner me in the bathroom with all of her evil hairstyling minions gathered around her. "I will not let you turn me into the wench from the Sam Adams commercial! I stand for historical accuracy and this intervention shall not proceed!" I inform her. I lock her out of the bathroom, and quickly creating two thin braids along the crown of my head and pinning them back with a blue ribbon. A little lip gloss, powder, and blush complete the look. The girls are pissed because my hair's not curly "like the chick in the spandex man movie!" but they're pleasantly surprised by my own interpretation.

I decide to bring Quil along with me tonight to help me unload. I need someone to cram the cake stand into my armpit before I walk in or I know I'll drop the big purple box with the unicorn in it. Of course, as I'm bent over trying to reach said box, Quil smacks my ass in his abusively, big brother fashion. I withhold judgement until I have a clear shot at his expansive chest, and then twist that boy's nipple until he shoves the stand into my arm to distract me. I don't fall, and really, that's the only goal tonight.

With twenty minutes to spare before guests started arriving, I get the hideously cumbersome cake set up on its intended table. I even manage to remember to place some business cards at the bar with Alice and a few where I think the DJ should be setting up before I position myself toward the back of the pub. Everyone looks ridiculous, but I guess that's the point when adults play dress up. I usually make more of an effort to stir up possible customers at big events, but then again, I'm not usually dressed as a character from English folklore. Alice's Alice is goth perfection as always, and Lil' Rose-Peep is sex personified. In that costume, she owns the entire room just as much as she owns the floor we're standing on.

Watching the door for interesting newcomers, I see two guys come in, walking around as if they're looking for someone. One is dressed in an elaborate Victorian getup, while the bigger of the two appears to be some kind of polar bear/wolf hybrid with a crown to top it off. He is randomly gnashing his teeth at female guests, and proceeds to show Rosalie his "claws". All at once Rose figures out who they must be looking for and stalks over to the DJ table. At some point while I was eye-stalking these two creatures, the DJ has set up his equipment and begun playing a set typical for a celebration of this kind.

I watch as Rose glares at Mr. DJ like he has just stolen her 30-dollar Frederic Fekkai conditioner and begins to verbally attack him. Huh, it seems our music man has forgotten to wear a costume. You know Rose won't stand for that, and neither will I, for that matter. I had to carry a fucking edible unicorn through this place in a dress; he could at least wear a hat or something. As I spy, smiling to myself at his woe, the DJ pulls a marker and a roll of tape out of his bag on the floor. Writing upside down and backwards, he adds a few words to the front of his shirt, on top of the tape he ripped with his teeth and smeared angrily across his chest. Though Rose isn't pleased, this seems to dissuade her from biting his entire head off his shoulders. Polar-Wolf Boy follows close behind Rose, watching her rear as she walks away. I wonder if she knows him, as he is certainly trying to radiate his machismo in the general direction of her lady parts. Big Boy pulls something out of his back pocket that looks eerily like a Burger King crown and hands it to the DJ, and I can't stand it anymore. As much as I hate to draw attention to myself, I have to have my turn at giving this guy shit about his thrown-together outfit.

Looking more closely at his shirt I ask, "Is that your normal attire, Prince Fucking Charming?"

"No", he says, a smartass look on his face, "My roommate just has a preternatural obsession with Burger King." He doesn't say anything else for a minute, and I'm guessing that he's just tired of being picked on. I decide to have pity on this beautifully cantankerous being and ask him about the cake, since I'm almost sure that he saw me setting up at some point tonight. "So, have you tried any of the cake?"

"Jesus Christ! This isn't a fucking wedding, why the hell do we need a cake THAT big?"

After that comment, I realize my pity was unfounded and walk away with a strange smile pulling at my lips. Creeping backwards, I spot Alice making her way toward the music booth just as Mr. Prissy Pants adjusts the flame-broiled chapeau on his head. Keeping back to the side, so Alice won't embarrass me in front the crowned king of all that is aural, I am very aware of the anger floating off her tiny body. Listening closely, I think I hear Alice call him a beast! For goodness sake, Alice, I appreciate the rage, but that isn't really necessary. The rest of their conversation is just as confusing.

Alice explains to him that I originally intended to be Belle, but that I refused on account of not wanting to wear a dress bigger than my cake. "What?" he says. Alice follows with a large amount of elaborate hand gestures directed toward my cake in the corner.

"HER CAKE?", he bellows.

"Yes, HER CAKE!" Alice is getting louder by the second. She usually keeps herself in check better than this; she must be having a rough night. She visibly exhales, smoothing her dress with a perfect smile on her face, and then I can only hear her musical voice calmly speaking. What she's saying is pretty random; I'm not exactly sure how "tangy", "tart", and "tongue-tickling" relate to this guy's cake disdain. She points to Rose, who has snuck up behind me without my notice, and horrified realization crosses his face. This guy is really on a roll tonight. Alice is upset that he disrespected my baked-good monstrosity, and Rosalie is pissed that her DJ is talking to everyone at the party instead of actually DJing.

I see him absent-mindedly finger one of the business cards I'd left on his table. He has to have figured it out by now. I think he saw me outside unloading, he heard Alice, he saw my card. Why do I care so much anyway? Then I remember I'd meant to ask Rose about him. Looking beside me, she's gone, and I feel eyes on me. It's him of course, and I just shrug once again as the unexplainable smile plays at my mouth. Hiking up my dress, I trek over to where Rose has planted herself to acquire information about the DJ and his smile-inducing abilities. I tap Rose on the shoulder and she turns with a knowing smirk on her pretty face. If she'd had that look on her face while she did her fairy-tale pastoral duty, no wonder the sheep were lost; they'd all run away in terror.

"So", she says, "Are you planning on loosening the chastity belt tonight, Miss Marian?"

"No!" I huff like a 3-year-old, "But…could you tell me who the DJ is?"

"You mean the douchebag otherwise known as Prince? That is Edward Fucking Cullen of KNDD radio, my dear Bella."

I start to smile again before I'm aware that Rose is still watching me. "You are soooo gonna give him the key!" she shouts and cackles. Giving her the dirtiest look I can muster while still hiding my traitorously smiling mouth, I make my way to the table where my cake is and sit down. The large man-boy, whom I've finally figured out is Max, of "Where The Wild Things Are" fame, comes by for more cake. Watching him take a bite is almost worth my whole strange night thus far. His eyes roll back in almost orgasmic joy, and I laugh out loud for the first time all evening.

As I attempt to carry out the mauled carcass of my unicorn cake toward the end of the party, I overhear the turdlette that is Mike Newton bragging about something. He seems to be holding something shiny in his hand, as if he'd won a prize. It's an iPod. Mike comes by the bakery to harass me enough for me to know he doesn't own an iPod. Using the fact that I know he has un-brotherly feelings for me to my advantage, I scoot up closely to him and rest my free hand on his arm while balancing the rest of the unicorn. "Mike, I'll trade you 3 free chocolate chip cookies at the bakery tomorrow if you let me hold your little trophy there." His ears start to turn red and he stutters out a "duh". Examining the device more closely, I think I recognize it from my brief encounter with Edward. Without thinking, I shove the iPod down the front of my dress and smash the rest of the unicorn over Mike's head. It's a fair trade, I figure; I get to hold on to Edward's music machine, which gives me a perfect excuse to talk to him again, and Mike gets to clean up the rest of that hideously delicious cake.

I scan the room quickly before Mike has time to process the frosting running down his back and don't see Edward anywhere. The parking lot is empty of gorgeous Prince Fuckers as well, so I guess I'll just keep the damn iPod as insurance that I'll get to see him again. Hopefully our next meeting won't require such extravagant outfit maintenance, and could involve the possibility of those chocolate chip cookies I theoretically promised to Mike.

Once I arrive back at the apartment, the exhaustion of the entire day takes over my body immediately. My sweats are calling to me and I'm missing my mom, like I do everyday, and even more acutely on special occasions. My mom looked like me, with shorter hair and gorgeous laugh lines around her mouth. She was the most loving, erratic, hare-brained person I'd ever known, and I feel more than a little lost without her. The Halloween after I started college, she decided to surprise her husband, Phil, by hanging the Halloween lights by herself on the front of their house in Phoenix. The only problem was that she was decked out in her full Elvira costume while standing on the ladder, and when she tripped one rung from the top and fell to her end, that costume's batwing sleeve was to blame. Like I said, she was erratic, and impulsive, especially when it came to doing things for the people she loved. It was her lifelong, hare-brained fascination with immortality that ultimately took her last breaths from her.

On a day (or is it still night?) like this, I like to check my fortune online. It's something Renee loved to put her faith in, even if she had to twist the words to fit her needs for the hour. Clicking on my browser, I find that little box that always tempts me with memories of her and click on it excitedly. This one better be good; I haven't taken the time to open a fortune since Thanksgiving and these just happen to be extracted from Chinese Astrology. The small screen pops up in front of my tired eyeballs and reads, "Sometimes the lion falls for the lamb, and the ox surrenders to a dog". Well, that makes no sense. I really need Renee here to tell me what any of that means. Whispering toward the ceiling, I remind my mom just how much I miss her and move to my bed.

Edward's iPod sits on the edge of my bed and catches my eye as I crawl toward my pillow. I feel like a devious raccoon, hoarding my new shiny find, as I clutch it to my chest and flop onto my back. Rolling it in my hands, I remember the unforeseen smile that he drew from my lips and decide that playing just one song wouldn't hurt anyone. Nothing he played at the party caught my attention, but that's the first list I come to. Closing my lids and fending off the sandman that sits on top of them, I push the "shuffle songs" button, just to see what happens. Taylor Swift's "Love Story" fills the air and I giggle to myself. I guess it's appropriate for the event he was working. There were at least a couple of Shakespearean couples at The Unicorn tonight. But this song poses quite a conundrum to my little brain. It's not my style, nor his, I would imagine, but it's been caught in the net of my mind, and I can't let go.


End file.
